


Bossy Pants

by Anonymous_1701



Category: Fred Astaire - Fandom, Fred Astaire x Ginger Rogers - Fandom, Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers - Fandom, Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers Movies, Ginger Rogers - Fandom
Genre: American (US) Actors RPF - Freeform, F/M, Golden Age Hollywood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:01:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26376973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous_1701/pseuds/Anonymous_1701
Summary: Sleep deprivation makes Ginger bossy.
Relationships: Fred Astaire & Ginger Rogers, Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers
Comments: 3
Kudos: 6





	Bossy Pants

Ginger yawned loudly. The studio had been dark when she had arrived this morning at 6:00am, the autumn air hinting at frost soon. The early shift security guards had nodded or waved their welcomes to her at the Gower Gate as she drove onto the RKO studio lot, cradling their cups of hot, thick coffees and wrapped up in warm jackets and hats that looked like police garments. They were the first people she saw in a day, and frequently the swing shift were the last people. They liked her, and that made her happy. She liked making people smile. 

Three hours later, she was ready for a break.

“Fred, I’m hungry. Let’s take a break.” Ginger listened to her rumbling stomach and walked off the dance floor without waiting for Fred to follow. Ambling over to the craft service table that was set up along the sound stage wall with the bare minimums, she fixed a cup of tea. The food table held just a few things, and she contemplated her breakfast choices. Choosing a bagel, she smeared it with cream cheese, added some capers and sliced tomato with salt and pepper and called it good. Balancing her hot tea carefully, she kicked off her dancing shoes, tucked her stocking feet up under herself and her plain dance dress, and curled up in her director’s chair set up on the edge of the dancing floor set up in half of the cavernous sound stage; their dressing rooms took up part of the other half. She was so tiny that she could manage that in the chair. Fortunately for her she was a morning person, but still. After a while, the early hours followed by eight to twelve hours of dancing started to get to her. Fred liked to get there early and get in some solid dance early in the day before the studio was overrun with people. It was now nine o’clock and she was going to take a break for some calories and caffeine whether anyone liked it or not.

The only other two people on the stage were the only two other people that Fred allowed. Hermes Pan, their dance coordinator, and Hal Bourne, their rehearsal pianist, also took the opportunity to grab some breakfast. Hermes selected a sugar donut with a hot black coffee, grumbling over too much sugar. Hal picked through the bagels, finally decided on the least offensive choice, and took an orange juice. All four were old friends now. They had worked together for years on these musicals and were well acquainted with one another. They accommodated each other’s quirks and personalities. Their partnerships had gifted them fame and fortune and fortuitously, they simply liked working together. They also were the only two people at the studio who knew that Ginger and Fred were a couple. Hal and Hermes found their own chairs and ate in companionable silence. 

Fred, her dancing partner, had taken the opportunity to sprawl next to her in his own chair without arguing. His long legs stuck out in front of him and he slouched, head thrown back, with his eyes closed. Ginger doubted that he was asleep. He was probably dreaming up more dance moves for them to experiment with for the rest of the day. When it came to rehearsals, he liked to try a dozen moves, see which one he liked best and then rehearse it until it they could do it in their sleep. It wasn’t that he was a martinet, but he did obsess about getting every little thing perfect. His studio contract granted him complete control over the dance portions of the movies he starred in, and he took that responsibility seriously. 

She didn’t mind perfection. This was their seventh movie together, and the title was tentatively called “Never Gonna Dance”. She thought the title was silly because all she had done for the last three weeks of rehearsals was dance her feet off every day for eight hours. However, their adoring public anticipated more interesting dances in every film they made, so it was only natural to up the ante each time. Fortunately, Fred was a fabulous choreographer and always had good ideas.

Ginger herself had started three weeks ago, but Fred and Hermes had started creating the basic structures of the dances two weeks before that. She had slept most of those two weeks while the men worked. However, since she had made twenty-eight movies in the last four years since she had moved to Hollywood from New York and Broadway, it had barely put a dent in her sleep deprivation. True, not all of those had been as the lead actress, especially not the early ones, but RKO had worked her to the bone. She was young and strong, but she could feel it taking a toll. 

As she tossed back the dregs of her tea, she was startled by a snore from her partners’ chair. Glancing over at him, she realized that he had managed to fall asleep. She couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. He did snore though. He had snored last night when they had been together at her house. It was what had actually woken her up at 5am, late, and they realize that the sleep alarm had not gone off. A mad scramble to fling on rehearsal clothing and run out the door to their separate cars had meant they both cruised into the studio within seconds of each other, and on time. She watched him fondly, his slim but strong dancer’s body draped over the chair, his huge hands crossed over his chest, and his balding heart shaped face relaxed in sleep.

Ginger and Fred had been on-again/off-again lovers for years, despite both of them being married to other people. They had met in New York City seven years ago, when Fred, a seasoned dance genius on Broadway, had given dance lessons to her, the new girl with potential. They had fallen in love in a passionate, whirlwind romance, but she had left within eight months for Hollywood, leaving Fred with a broken heart. Ginger had missed him tremendously, but within two years, Fred had followed to the west coast – with his new bride. In the meantime, she had fallen for a girlhood crush and actually married him, never expecting to see Fred again. Their two rebound marriages had put a damper on the smoldering embers of their own relationship, but in the end, nothing could extinguish the love and lust that they had for one another. Their spouses tolerated the arrangement with bitterness and hostility, but neither Fred nor Ginger were to be deterred. Getting to spend hours each day with Fred, in intimate proximity dancing, was Ginger’s idea of heaven and she was confident that Fred felt the same way.

Finishing her tea and bagel breakfast, she set aside her cup and napkin. She put her hands together and stretched hear lean body up towards the high stage ceiling. Leaning to the left and the right, the muscles stretched and loosened. She felt invigorated. She skipped over to where her partner snored.

“Hey, wake up, old man,” she said, slapping him on the leg and startling him.

He jerked awake and rubbed a hand over his face sheepishly. Grinning up at her, his hazel eyes twinkling, he declared, “I was not asleep.”

“Oh, so you just make that awful racket for the hell of it?”

“I wasn’t snoring.” 

“Fine. Let’s get moving again.” Ginger didn’t want to argue with him. They only had two more weeks to nail down the majority of the dances before the rest of the cast came on board and the production actually started shooting. There wasn’t a moment to waste. 

“My, you’re bossy today,” Fred stated, pulling himself together and bounding up the stairs to the scuffed wooden dance floor that was their home-away-from-home. Now that he was awake, she marveled at the boundless energy that crackled around him, his elegant dancers body limber and capable. That energy had kept them up enjoying one another until one in the morning. It had been a short night of sleep after that. He beckoned to her. “As I recall, you were rather bossy last night, too.” 

She chuckled while he pulled her into a dance hold. Companionably, he swung around on the stage for a few minutes and their feet seemed to fly, barely touching the scuffed wood.

“Hmmm,” Ginger mulled over that last move. “I think it would be more efficient if you did – THIS – and I did – THIS.” She demonstrated, paused, and waited for his thoughts. 

“Oooh, that’s swell, Ginge,” Fred nodded thoughtfully. They tried it together that way, and sure enough, the dance went more smoothly.

“I was thinking about – THIS,” he swung her around, tapped out a complicated sequence and twirled her, “while I was not sleeping.” 

Ginger stopped and walked a few feet away, her eyes on the dance floor and running moves in her mind’s eye. 

“No.”

“What?” Fred blinked in surprise. If he wasn’t so tired, he would have been annoyed by the insubordination, but as it was, he was simply curious. “Why not?”

Hal on the piano stopped playing and exchanged an incredulous look with Hermes. Ginger was one of the few people who ever told Fred ‘no’. Studio executives fell over themselves to placate Fred, and even studio heads were reluctant to go head to head with him, at least over dance sequences. Film directors and crew members obeyed him instantly when he politely and implacably requested anything.

“Because this should be S-L-O-W, Freddie.” Ginger was sure of it. 

“Fine, show me what you think we should do.”

She did. 

She shooed him off and stood dramatically alone on stage. Now that the caffeine from the tea and the energy from the food was in her system, she felt invincible. The tiredness fled. Slamming a tap shoe on the floor, she thought for a moment, planned it, and spun out into a dance. Her lithe figure moved sinuously on the hardwood floor, tapping in slow motion and spun her rehearsal dress out, letting her slim legs lead the way. Feeling her oats now, she danced just for Fred. She held his gaze as she shimmied around the floor, her hourglass figure conveying seduction and animal magnetism in dance form.  


After ten minutes of a spectacular show that no one but the three men in the room would ever see, Ginger brought off the end of the dance with a drop to her knees. 

All three men were gaping at her, their mouths open. It brought Ginger a rush of gratification, and a feeling of power. 

She jumped to her feet and clapped her hands smartly. 

“Gentlemen, I think it’s time for another break, while Fred and I discuss this damn dance. Go get a proper breakfast at the Commissary and come back in an hour.” Hal and Hermes rushed to obey her.

The door closed behind the two men, and Ginger threw the lock.

Fred was still where she had left him, gaping at her from his director’s chair.

“Fred are you collecting flies?” she asked, coming to a stop in front of him, hands on hips.

He shut his mouth, but his eyes were bugging out slightly. A smile tugged the corners of his mouth.

“You know what, Fred?” she announced. “I am feeling a bit bossy today.”

She reached for him and grabbed his hand. Dragging him behind her, she headed for her dressing room and pulled him inside. She locked this door behind her, too. 

Fred walked to the middle of the room and sized her up, his expression somewhere between delight and terror. 

“Strip.” Ginger demanded.

Fred’s jaw dropped again. “What?”

“Do I have to repeat myself?” She stalked over to him slowly, enjoying this game immensely. “I’m the boss today and I said - strip.”

Fred fumbled to obey.


End file.
